


you light the spark (in my bonfire heart)

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drinking, F/F, Fluff, House Party, Reader-Insert, have some nervous gays!!!!, love that mutual pining!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Robin runs into the drunk reader at a party. Cue drunken flirting, some miscommunication, cheap alcohol, and an after-party for two.





	you light the spark (in my bonfire heart)

Tommy H was an ass hat, certifiably, but he did throw a good party. With perpetually absent and ignorant parents that always left the liquor cabinets unlocked, Tommy’s house was something of a landmark for Hawkins High students. When he graduated this year, the torch would be handed to his younger brother, a freshman named Harry that was currently doing a keg stand in the living room, not seeming to mind that he was soaking the carpet with beer.

Robin pushed through the throng of people and into the kitchen - only slightly less crowded - and found the jungle juice, dunking her cup in and refilling it. Though she seldom tried to guess what was in the concoction, tonight the tequila sang through with its sharp bite. Grimacing, Robin took another swig, barely tasting the orange juice mixed in. She thought she might have tasted apple juice, too, likely an attempt to hide the alcohol. The cocktail’s mixer had definitely failed, but Robin was three cups in, anyways, and while she could still taste it, the burn wasn’t as strong. Or, maybe it was, and she was too drunk to care.

“Robin! Robin, Robin Robin!” Called a sing-songy voice from the kitchen’s entrance. She swung her head toward the door and found you barreling towards her - tipsy and far too excited. When you reached her, you threw your arms around her in an off-balance hug and pulled back to smile at her, eyes bright and slightly glazed.

“You’re here,” you said, “I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“I’m here!” 

You reached past her and grabbed a cup, filling it and taking a swig. You winced, lips puckering.

“What the-”

“Someone missed the lesson on mixing at bartending school,” Robin said, taking a drag from her own nasty cup. It tasted like shit, but the tequila was already crawling its way up her veins and warming her insides. Even with the house’s AC, she was sweating.

“Is it really so hard to dump alcohol and juice in a bowl?”

“Calling this a bowl,” Robin said, nodding to the container holding the horrid mixture, “is an insult to bowls everywhere.”

You laughed and sidled closer to her, leaning in. Your lips grazed her ear in your unbalance state and her stomach flipped.

“Is it really so hard to dump alcohol and juice in a _bucket_?” You asked. Robin tried to smile past the fluttering in her stomach, the nerves skating up and down her skin. You didn’t move away, your hips pressed together, both leaning against the counter. Robin held her drink against her chest, brain not functioning well enough to decide whether you were flirting or just friendly. _Overly_ friendly.

“That’s asking a lot of Tommy and Harry,” Robin said, “their shared brain cell might overload.”

You snorted. “You have a point.”

“It may taste like shit, but it sure does work.”

“Cheers to that,” you said, holding up your cup for Robin to bump against. The cups collided a little too hard, liquid sloshing over the edges and onto both your arms. It went ignored, though, as you both took sips and immediately cringed.

“God…”

“So bad,” Robin said. You grinned.

“Are you sober enough to judge?” You asked.

“Are _you_?”

“Absolutely not,” you said with a goofy smile. Robin set her drink on the counter and you followed suit, the space between you narrowing. Neither of you moved away, and Robin’s heart beat so hard in her chest she was shocked you and the whole party couldn’t hear.

“I’ve been trying to figure out whether or not their parents actually know these parties happen,” you said, “or if they just think their kids make huge messes whenever they leave.”

“I don’t think Tommy and Harry could use up the number of condoms that get littered around this house every weekend.”

“Bold of you to assume anyone uses protection,” you retorted.

“Wishful thinking,” Robin said. You smiled, gaze flicking from Robin’s eyes to her mouth, and for a moment, she swore you were going to kiss her. Then you shifted backward ever so slightly, that same flirty smile playing on your lips.

“There’s an after-party at mine,” you said, “if you’re interested. The wine’s cheap, but it beats whatever the hell this is.” You nodded to your half-drunk cups. Robin’s interest was piqued, and she arched a brow.

“Who’s invited?” She asked. You averted your gaze, confidence faltering for just a beat before you met her eyes again.

“You.”

Robin’s heart skipped a beat, brain spinning out as that one word tumbled over and over in her head like a washing machine. You. As in: no one else. Her lips parted, and though she was sure she was gaping like a fish, Robin couldn’t get her mouth to close. She couldn’t do anything but stare at you like an idiot.

Taking her reaction as rejection your cheeks flushed and you stepped back, the space stretching between you, every inch you moved away pelting Robin like needles.

“Sorry,” you said, “Sorry, I didn’t - I’ve obviously had too much to drink and should just-”

“I’m interested,” Robin interrupted. Your brows furrowed in confusion and Robin stammered, “in the after-party. I’m interested.”

“Yeah?” You asked, still a little unsure, like someone was playing a practical joke and you were wary of falling for it.

“I’m always interested in cheap wine,” Robin said. _And you_.

“You’ve obviously got good taste,” you said. Robin grinned and grabbed her solo cup, chucking it into the trash. You did the same, and in seconds you were pushing through the pack of teenagers and making your way to the front door.

* * *

“You said it was a _quick_ walk,” Robin said, stumbling over yet another root protruding from the ground. It was too dark outside to watch where she was going, and the tequila sloshing around inside her didn’t help.

“It is,” you replied, “You’re just drunk.” You let out a yelp as your own foot got caught, but you tugged it free and caught your balance.

“Pot calling the kettle black!”

“I never said I wasn’t drunk. I’m pretty sure I said I _was_, actually.”

“I think the scent of tequila and apple juice cleared that up for me.”

“Don’t forget the OJ!”

“Oh, _who_ could forget the OJ?”

You shot a smile over your shoulder and Robin’s stomach continued on its endless tumbling. You’d only been walking a few minutes, ducking into the trees behind Tommy and Harry’s house, but it felt like an eternity to Robin. Her sneakers - usually trustworthy - were starting to hurt, squeezing her toes.

“We’re here!” You announced, pushing through a clearing in the trees to reveal a culdesac of homes. Robin couldn’t make out any of the architectural details, but she could tell that your house was painted a soft green color, one that reminded her of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

You led her up to the door, silent as you knelt and removed a key from beneath the mat. Robin followed you into the house and you flicked the lights on, revealing a small living room with green shag carpeting. Kicking her shoes off, she padded after you to the kitchen.

“Take a seat,” you said, gesturing to an empty spot on the floor like it were a King’s throne. Robin laughed and sat down on the tile, watching as you dug through the kitchen cabinets, searching for something tucked in the back. You let out a triumphant yell and emerged with a large bottle of pink wine. So cheap it didn’t even have a real cork - you screwed the cap off and chucked it into the trash.

You dropped down beside her and held out the bottle, giving Robin the inaugural sip. It was overly sweet, and not necessarily in a good way, but it was far preferable to the tequila.

It could have been straight rubbing alcohol and Robin wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was this - the two of you, tipsy on the cold tile, giggling each time someone spilled a drop.

“Where are your parents?” Robin asked.

“My aunt is getting married tomorrow. They’re in Fort Wayne until Monday,” you said.

“No raging parties while they’re gone?”

“What are you talking about?” You asked. “This _is_ a raging party.”

Robin laughed, louder than she meant to, but you only smiled.

“Still. Why not throw a real party? You could probably make a mean tequila and orange juice cocktail,” Robin teased. You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, that nervousness from before seeming to return.

“There’s really only one person I’d want to come,” you said.

“And who’s that?”

You met her gaze, an almost exasperated look on your face, like saying the words aloud took something out of you.

“She’s already here, so, I guess that’s mission accomplished,” you said. It was clear you were setting yourself up to fail, and Robin saw herself so clearly in your actions that, for a moment, she was taken aback.

She knew what this was. This hesitation, this fear, this underlying shame that infected everything. Wanting: the kind Robin was always told she wasn’t allowed to feel. The one she felt every time she looked at you.

“Well, it’s quite the rager,” Robin said with a smile. You grinned and drew your knees up to your chest, arms slung loosely around them.

“Better than Tommy H’s?”

“Oh, yeah,” Robin said, “You get an A+ on party-throwing.”

You laughed.

“I’d hope so,” you said, “I’ve been to enough of those shitty house parties. Seen them get rolled enough times to know what to avoid.”

“You don’t really strike me as a party girl,” Robin said. “I don’t think I can picture you doing a keg stand.”

You shrugged. “I mostly go to watch my classmates do stupid shit they’ll never admit to that Monday at school.”

“Free entertainment,” Robin said.

“Oh, the hangover costs.”

Robin laughed, a little too loud, the wine and tequila smoothing her hard edges.

“You’re not like I thought,” Robin said, “not just another band kid.”

“Neither are you,” you said. “I don’t think any of us are like anyone thinks.”

At Robin’s pursed lips, you winced, letting out a small, awkward laugh to ease the weight off the words you’d said.

“Sorry. I’m a philosophical drunk. I’ll stop talking.”

“No,” Robin said, “don’t apologize. And don’t stop talking.”

Your brows knit together and you met Robin’s gaze.

“I just feel like…we’re all figuring out who we are right now, right? That’s what it’s supposed to be. But instead, everyone’s pretending like they know already. But when they’re all stuffed into some basement at some house, drunk on really, really shitty alcohol, people stop pretending. They say embarrassing stuff and do stupid things.”

“Alcohol is the great equalizer,” Robin said. Your lips tugged into a half-smile.

“Basically,” you said. “And it makes it easier to do all the things you’re too scared to do sober.”

“Such as?” Robin asked.

You didn’t reply, taking a long swig from the bottle, gaze moving between Robin’s sneakers, your lap, the bottle in your hands - anywhere but her eyes. Robin reached out and took the bottle, the movement dragging your focus back to her.

“What are you so afraid of?” She asked. Your mouth twitched, and though you squirmed beneath her gaze, you didn’t look away.

“You,” you said. “The answer to all the questions is you.”

Had Robin been standing, her knees probably would have buckled. Her entire being seemed to lurch into awareness; the cool tile against the back of her legs, the pressure of your sneaker pressed against her thigh, the warmth singing in her blood. And, of course, you, only a foot away, pupils dilated, lips parted.

The decision to kiss you had been made a long, long time ago. Robin just didn’t realize it until she was right in front of you.

She bent toward you, taking your face in her hands, thumbs grazing your cheekbones.

“Yes,” she asked, “or no?”

Your eyes widened, bright and excited, and you shifted closer, your legs a tangle of limbs on the kitchen floor.

“Yes,” you said, and closed the distance between you. It wasn’t the most elegant of kisses, nor was it the gentlest, but it _was_ yours. Your hands fluttered down her arms, fingertips tickling her skin before settling on her waist and tugging her closer.

Desire coils inside Robin like a snake, demanding, years and years of repression bubbling up and out. Her heart thrums like a kick drum, a beat carrying you both along, music made out of touch and breath.

You kissed her until your lips were numb and your thoughts were fuzzy, and only when you were both gasping for air did you finally break apart. But not for long; after all, this was the after-party, and you had the whole house to yourself. More importantly: Robin had _you_ all to herself.


End file.
